“They're still people, Jane. Same motivations as anybody else, just different frills." She started rinsing out empty paper cartons and putting them in the trash masher.
“You clean your trash before you throw it away?" Jane asked in wonder. Shelley was, hands down, a better housekeeper than Jane, but this surprised her.
“Sometimes. The masher takes so long to fill up that things can get awfully ripe. Somebody once told me a trash masher was the greatest invention in the world for turning fifty pounds of trash into fifty pounds of trash."
“No, the greatest invention this century is the hot glue gun," Jane said. "Everything from my dishes to my carpeting is held in place because of it. I keep hoping to find a way to use it on my hair."
“Come on, Jane. Don't change the subject. You know I'm right about the movie people."
“But it would mean hanging around them and frankly, my one lunch with them was a heart-stopper. I don't want to repeat that experience."
“But you won't. You got the shocking part over with right away, unless you think the other women on the set are going to be lining up to tell you they slept with your husband — which, I have to admit, is sounding like a possibility. Besides, they're interesting in their weirdness. And the one thing they seem to love above all else is talking about themselves.”
Jane was beginning to feel a spark of hope. "You really think—?"
“I know we can get to the bottom of this before Mel can pick his way through DNA samples and fingerprints and heaven knows what else. You know it, too.”
Shelley glanced around the kitchen for anything else that could go into the dishwasher and, satisfied there was nothing hiding, closed the door and punched the buttons to start it. Then she got a fresh pot of coffee started. As the dishwasher swished and hummed, she washed off the kitchen table, then sat down. "Now, it's simple, Jane. Somebody killed Jake. We just have to figure out why and who."
“Oh, sure. That is easy," Jane said.
“Sarcasm is wasted on me. It can't be that hard. Killing somebody isn't a normal way of dealing with problems. It's so abnormal that it ought to stand out a mile if we really concentrate on the problem."
“Okay, I'm concentrating," Jane said.
In the living room Shelley's daughter Denise shrieked with delight or defeat.
“Hold it down," Shelley shouted back.
“If I ever get to go away with Mel, I think I'll buy my kids the Super Nintendo to keep them busy while I'm gone," Jane said.
“You mean, to play with it yourself when you get back," Shelley guessed accurately.
“Okay, okay. Who killed Jake? I think the 'why' has to come first, don't you? And the obvious `why' is the blackmail. We know he was attempting to blackmail at least one person and maybe others as well."
“Hold it," Shelley said. "Let's examine that. Do we know it was Jake doing the blackmailing?”
Jane considered. "No, not a hundred-percent sure. But if you know somebody was being blackmailed and a few hours later there's a dead body, can't you assume he was the blackmailer?"
“Okay, you're probably right. Tell me again what you heard.”
Jane closed her eyes and tried to tune out the other noises to recapture the aural memory. "The first person, let's say 'A,' said something about being in a hurry. Then 'B,' who was probably Jake, said that girl had come down with chicken pox — no, I don't think he actually mentioned chicken pox. Just that. somebody had come down with something. And then he said that 'A' knew what he wanted."
“But he didn't specify what it was?"
“No. It must have been something they had talked about before."
“Or something 'A' could be expected to know about him."
“Like what?" Jane asked.
“I don't know. . like, maybe they'd worked together before and 'A' knew that Jake was terrified of diseases and would want to be excused from the set or something."
“Pretty thin," Jane said.
“It was the best I could do on the spur of the moment," Shelley said, looking impatiently at the burbling coffeemaker. Shelley firmly believed she couldn't think without regular infusions of coffee.
“Okay, I'll go along with it provisionally. So Jake, if it was Jake, wanted this 'A' person to intervene with the director. They talked about Roberto. 'A' said he and Roberto were hardly on speaking terms and he couldn't and wouldn't help. And then 'B' started talking about what I supposed were dirty movies."
“So did 'A' agree to do whatever he was supposed to do?"
“No, I don't think so. That was the end of it. Jake must have moved away because 'A' just mumbled `son of a bitch' and I didn't hear any more.”
The coffeemaker had finally finished. Shelley got up and poured them both enormous mugs. "Don't worry. It's decaf," she said, handing one to Jane. "Okay. That's all we've got to work with. You think they were men's voices. Both of them?"
“I think so. But I can't be positive. And you heard me telling Mel that there was nothing unusual about their word choices or accents or anything."
“So, we have to assume this 'A' person was probably an actor rather than a technical person, right?"
“I think so," Jane said, blowing on her coffee. "I guess making porn films could reflect badly on a director, but probably not on anybody else."
“And we know it wasn't Roberto because 'A' had no accent and they were talking about him."
“Uh-huh. And it was probably an important actor, rather than somebody with a bit part.""How do you figure that?" Shelley asked.
“Only because somebody in a minor part wouldn't be expected to have any influence on the director. Although, 'A' said he and Roberto couldn't stand each other."
“All this sounds to me like it must be George Abington."
“Yes, I'm afraid so."
“Why 'afraid so'?" Shelley asked.
“Because he's nice. He was the only one at the lunch who was polite to me. The only one who even acknowledged that I was there at all."
“How did he act toward Jake?”
Jane shrugged. "Nothing. No animosity, no friendliness. Nothing."
“He ignored Jake?"
“Not aggressively ignored. They just didn't happen to speak to each other. Well, nobody got to speak much because Roberto Cavagnari was holding forth."
“That seems strange. If somebody had tried to blackmail you and threatened to ruin your career, could you sit down with them an hour or so later and show no signs of anger?"
“Not unless I were a very good actor," Jane said.
Katie came into the kitchen. "Boys are so dumb," she said, as if it were a revolutionary discovery. "I'm going home, Mom. Thanks for a great dinner, Mrs. Nowack."
“Homework?" Jane asked.
Katie rolled her eyes. "Jeez, Mom. Like you have to remind me?"
“No phoning until it's done," Jane said.
From Shelley's side door she could see into her own kitchen. The police officer was still at the table, shuffling paperwork, so she felt it was all right to let Katie go home without escort. When Katie had gone, Jane went into the living room to question Todd about homework. When he admitted he had a few math problems to do, she sent him home as well.
When she rejoined Shelley, her friend was deep in thought. "Jane, suppose you turn this around." "How?"
“Well, suppose Jake was the one being blackmailed instead of doing the blackmailing?" "I don't follow you."
“Well, if somebody tried to blackmail Jake, and he thought about it and went back to the person later and said, 'I'm not doing what you want, and what's more, I'm going to 'fess up publicly to the porn movies and tell everybody what a slimeball you are—?' "
“Hmmmm. Seems a stretch to me," Jane said. "Maybe. But the blackmailer was talking about awards and how they don't give awards and honors to people who have been in skin flicks."